Preparing for my father’s Yarzheit

My daughter, Julia, standing next to a picture of my parents [Seena and Bob], taken in the mid-1950s

I love this picture of my mom and my dad… even sweeter with my daughter in it. My folks are gone for quite some time now—my dad died in 1982; my mom in 1999. My daughter never met my dad and she was only a year old when my mom died. So the only thing that would be perfect if this picture was real and all 3 of them could have met. But life isn’t always perfect. There is a bitter sweetness in that picture–I think of a verse from an old Jim Croce sang: “Photographs and memories; All the love you gave to me–Somehow it just can’t be true… That’s all I’ve left of you.” What is left is to gaze at the pictures and remember—simple stories, meaningful lessons, the joys and sorrows and all the in-betweens, the could’ve-would’ve-should’ves that occurred in life, the things I wished were said, the things I wish that weren’t said.

Not a day passes when I don’t think of either of them. I close my eyes and recall a moment in my life as if it was a scene from a movie. There was a scene in “Saving Private Ryan” between Captain Miller, played by Tom Hanks, and Private Ryan, portrayed by Matt Damon:

Private Ryan: I can’t see my brothers’ faces. And I…I’ve been trying and I…I can’t see their faces at all. Has that ever happened to you?

Captain Miller: You gotta think of a context.

Private Ryan: What does that mean?

Captain Miller: Well, you just don’t think about their faces, think about something specific. Something you’ve done together. Well, when I think of home, I…I think of something specific. I think of my…my hammock in the backyard or my wife pruning the rosebushes in a pair of my old work gloves.

I have my “contexts.” My mom in the kitchen, cooking at some weird angle to the stove; my mom in the garage as we drive in, waving to us; her beaming face as she hugged her grandchildren…. my dad watching football on Sunday at the edge of his bed; my dad taking pride that my brother and I look dapper as we became b’nei mitzvah; my dad’s smile without showing teeth [which one of my sons does o so well]… O those are a few of them.

And now at this time of the year, my father’s memory is more apparent because his yarzheit is coming up this week. At Shabbat services his name will be read and I will become a mourner again—36 years later. I will stand and recite Kaddish with the rest of the congregation. But my words on that Shabbat will have a heightened significance. For me—that kaddish recitation will be a mitzvah. I do so on his Yarzheit and at my mother’s anniversary of her passing just as I will the four additional times-a-year for Yizkor on Yom Kippur, Simchat Torah, Pesach, and Shavuot.

Yizkor is a day we are commanded to remember. It is not like I have forgotten either of them on the rest of the days of the year. The truth is–not a day goes by when I do not think of them both. There might be a certain smell or a unique encounter or an expression that is spoken or a little something that happens that will trigger a memory. It is important to understand that the command to “remember” does not imply that we have forgotten. It means that there is a heighten sense of responsibility to do so.

Memory is prescribed. In Exodus 13:3— Moses said to the people, “Remember this day on which you went free from Egypt, the house of bondage, how the LORD freed you from it with a mighty hand: no leavened bread shall be eaten.” The Exodus from Egypt is a defining moment for us—it taught us of God’s sovereignty; it created us as covenant people who are bound to God. The 12th century Spanish sage, Ibn Ezra, believed this verse of Torah means that on the 15th of Nisan Jews observe Passover and it is an obligation to remember the Exodus by not eating any bread products. The 11th century French/German rabbi, known as Rashi, believed that this verse means that each and every day we are obligated to remember the Exodus from Egypt. So, which one is it? My rabbinic answer is both! Each day we recall an aspect of the Exodus. Daily, we remember how through God’s might and sovereignty, we were a part of a nation that was redeemed from bondage. We recall this through reciting the v’ahvta and the Mi chamocha prayers. On Shabbat, we recall the Exodus from Egypt as a type of creation. We lift the kiddish cup and speak of two types of creation; creation of the world as well as the creation of people as a nation through the Exodus. On Passover, we tell the history as part of recalling that God redeemed the people once and God will do it again! Each encounter causes us to focus in a different aspect of redemption narrative.

The same is true with a Yarzheit. Each day I might recall something about my father—his wit and wisdom, his love of family, his business savvy, his poor health… Each day I will recall something about my mother—her devotion to family, her dedication to her career, her myopic way of looking at the world which now seems so endearing…. But as I recite Yizkor, I remember what they meant to me. On their individual Yarzheit, I recall their legacy and I thank God for their presence in my life.

The 14th century French rabbi/philosopherGersonides taught that the mitzvah of remembering the Exodus from Egypt means that one needs to do it out loud. One has to verbalize so that it is taught, learned, and heard. Perhaps, when it comes to Yarzheit that might be the reason why we speak the names aloud—so people know that a loved one is being remembered.

Each and every day, we remember… Let us speak aloud of God’s love for us and giving us precious souls who are the light of our lives, soul of our souls… And at God’s sacred times, let us shed a tear of love as we smile and say “L’chaim! To life…”